


Evolution

by Elwyne



Series: The Ex-Detectives [4]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwyne/pseuds/Elwyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Floundering professionally, Ellie tries something old and discovers something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evolution

Ellie straightened her collar in the hall mirror and smoothed her uniform front with both hands. "Well, boys?" she called. "How do I look?"

Tom glanced up briefly on his way to the kitchen. "Dench, Mum," he grunted.

Ellie frowned at her reflection. "Is that good or bad?"

"I think you look pretty," Freddy pronounced.

"Well, thank you, sweetheart," said Ellie. "I can always count on you to say something nice, can't I?"

Her baby boy looked up with a cherubic smile. "Can I have a biscuit?"

She laughed and ruffled his hair. "Not for breakfast, love. But nice try. Someday that might even work." With a final glance in the mirror she followed Tom into the kitchen. "I'm off," she said. "You'll get Freddy to school all right?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mum."

"Sorry. First-day jitters I suppose." She kissed his cheek. "I'll see you both tonight."

 

"You're from Hunt's, are you?" The supervisor frowned at the file on her desk. She was sixtyish, full figured and carelessly dressed, with artificial ginger curls fading to silver at the roots. "They're sending their old mums out now?"

Ellie flushed and said nothing. The other woman sighed. "Used to be a copper, did you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And left that why?"

"Family trouble, ma'am."

"Wasn't the drink, was it?"

Ellie met her new employer's eyes for the first time. They were crystal blue, cold and piercing. "No, ma'am," she said firmly.

"Course not. Even Hunt don't hire drinkers these days." She sighed again and shut the file. "Ah well, needs must. I'm Miz Flint. You'll report to me mornings when you arrive. I'll see you out evenings, and spell you for lunch. Twelve sharp." She got up from her desk with a grunt of effort. "There's a chair for you in the vestibule, and a desktop machine, but that's just for show. Your job's to watch people coming and going."

"Anything in particular, ma'am?"

"Just a pair of trained eyes." Ms. Flint headed out into the thickly carpeted hallway. "Never a bother in twenty years, then murder out of the blue."

"Murder?"

Ms. Flint gave her a reproachful glance. "Mr. Wyre's new client had his throat cut, right there in the office. They had to take out the carpet. And no one saw a blooming thing." She stopped outside a mahogany door. "Now that it's all over they have the bright idea to get security in. Anyroad, this is it."

The solicitor's antechamber was a square room with wood-paneled walls, a Chinese silk carpet, and a pair of heavy leather-bound armchairs set to one side. Two narrow windows let in slim beams of greyish daylight. A pretty blonde behind a solid cherrywood desk pecked at her keyboard with enameled nails. Ms. Flint cleared her throat, and the girl jumped.

"Hello," she said brightly. "Can I help you?"

"Sylvie, this is Mrs. Miller. Miller, Sylvie. She's a temp."

"The regular girl found the body." Sylvie shuddered dramatically. "Isn't it dreadful?"

"Took to her bed and hasn't been back," Ms. Flint grunted. "Young people these days. Anyroad, that's your chair." She pointed to a narrow desk in the opposite corner. "Any questions?"

"No, ma'am," said Ellie.

"Right. I'll come for you at twelve." She shambled out of the room and shut the door. Ellie let out her breath.

"Are you going to catch the murderer, then?" asked Sylvie, wide-eyed.

"Not me. There's detectives for that." She sat down at the little desk to hide her chagrin. It offered a good view of anyone coming in the door, without being obtrusive.

"Yes, I met one," said Sylvie. "Bit of a cold fish. Can I get you a coffee?"

"That would be lovely."

"Cream and sugar?"

"Please."

The girl bounced up from her chair and vanished into an alcove behind her desk. Ellie woke up her computer. A pair of file folders faded into view on the ancient monitor, one labeled 'staff' and the other 'clients.' Cups clinked and the coffeemaker burbled from across the room. Sylvie hummed tunelessly to herself. 

"Have you done a lot of security jobs?" she called.

"Not lately," Ellie answered. She opened the two files, and her screen filled with photos.

"Are you married?" said Sylvie.

Ellie sighed. "Not anymore."

"I'm engaged." The girl reappeared with a china cup in each hand. She set one on Ellie's desk, the coffee in it white as milk, and presented her left hand for inspection. A tiny zircon glittered in a gold-plate setting. "His name's Devon. He's an art student."

"How lovely. Thanks for the coffee." She took a sip and hid a grimace. No sugar next time, she told herself. The girl must have put in four spoons.

At nine the legal assistants arrived, bright boys and girls in neat clothes, with identical wan smiles and tired eyes. At ten Mr. Wyre appeared, ponderous and dour. He offered Ellie a brief nod, accepted his mail from the effusive Sylvie, and disappeared into his office.

"He's a scream, isn't he?" Sylvie giggled.

"How's that?"

"He looks like a toad. If I'd done a crime, I wouldn't come to him."

Wyre's business was in property, Ellie knew, but she said nothing.

"I wonder if the murderer was another client. I wonder if he knows who it is." She glanced over her shoulder at the office door, hiding another giggle behind her hand. "It's all so horrid," she said, not horrified at all.

"Murder generally is," said Ellie crisply. She was beginning to be annoyed.

"The police have been in nearly every day. They didn't want to let Mr. Wyre have his office back, but he's friends with someone higher up, so they had to clear out."

"I imagine the detectives were well pleased."

"DI Hardy was furious."

Ellie felt the blood drain from her face. Of course it would be him.

The arrival of a client averted any further gossip. Sylvie greeted the nervous young man, whom Ellie recognized from his photograph on her computer. He declined both coffee and a chair, choosing instead to pace before the windows until Sylvie received word to show him in. When he had gone, Sylvie returned to pecking at her keyboard, and Ellie began gradually to relax.

 

The morning passed quickly as Ellie skimmed her photos and politely acknowledged Sylvie's chatter. The client went on his way. Ms. Flint appeared at noon, and Ellie went for a sandwich at the shop downstairs. When she returned, Sylvie had gone as well.

"If anyone comes round," said Ms. Flint, "they're to return at two. Till then we're closed."

"Yes, mum," she said.

When the door closed the room fell utterly silent. The thick carpet seemed to deaden the very air. Ellie sat with her hands folded, gazing at the rows of faces on her screen. She wondered if one of them were a murderer, and shuddered. Just when she'd finally stopped seeing evil in every face, there it was again. She turned away.

As an underpaid young PC Ellie had worked security, spending her nights patrolling an empty shopping centre. The tedium was every bit as excruciating as she recalled. She began to miss Sylvie's mindless noise. No wonder she chattered so, Ellie thought; the poor girl must be half out of her mind with this quiet.

At half past one Reggie and Carla, both legal assistants, arrived with armfuls of takeaway. They nodded a greeting and vanished into the office. A few minutes later, Sylvie returned, locked her handbag in her desk and popped out to the ladies. Another assistant, an Indian youth named Patrick, emerged with a stack of paperwork, which he piled on Sylvie's desk with a sigh. Then the girl reappeared, accepted the stack, and staggered out again. Patrick returned to the office. In the quiet Ellie looked up to see Alec standing in the doorway.

He didn't see her right away; noting Sylvie's empty desk he glanced out into the hallway. Then his eyes fell on her, and widened in surprise. He checked the hall again.

"Ellie," he said.

"Hello."

"Didn't expect to see you here."

"Nor I."

He studied her uniform. "Hunt's Security?"

Her cheeks began to burn, and she nodded. "They took me on last month."

With a grunt he looked away. "Is the girl back yet?"

"The temp is in the copy room."

"I suppose you've been instructed not to let anyone in."

"Not at all. I'm only here to watch for unfamiliar faces."

Again he looked surprised. A thin smile flashed across his face. "They actually did it."

"Did what?"

"I said they ought to have some security. No one ever listens."

She smiled. "They did."

"Aye." He smiled again, this time with real warmth. Ellie felt something in her melt.

"Inspector Hardy!" said Sylvie from the doorway. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. Won't be a moment." She edged into the room with an armload of papers, batting her lashes at him as she went. "I've just to return these and I'll be right with you."

"Here, let me help." Alec strode past her and seized the doorknob to the inner office. 

A look of panic crossed the girl's face. "Sir, you mustn't -"

"Just getting the door," he said, opening it.

Sylvie scurried past him into the office. "Hello," he called after her. "Mr. Wyre in?"

Ellie couldn't make out the response. Sylvie emerged from the office and shut the door behind her. "He won't be back today," she said hurriedly. "He had meetings all afternoon. If you'd care to make an appointment -"

"He'd only duck that too. Tell your boss, if he wants to speak to us on his terms, now is the time. Otherwise there's a warrant with his name on it."

Sylvie went pale. "I'll tell him, sir, but -"

"You do that." Alec turned, nodded to Ellie, and strode out of the room.

Sylvie let out a long breath. "You all right?" Ellie asked.

"Bloody coppers," she sighed. "They think everyone's a murderer."

"Well, someone is," said Ellie.

"Why does he have to be so rude?"

Ellie hid a smile. Sylvie dropped into her seat and began straightening her hair.

"Honestly," she said. "He'd suspect me if I'd been here. Sometimes I think he suspects me anyway."

"It's his job."

"What a miserable job. No wonder he's divorced."

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "How do you know he's divorced?"

"When he first came round he had a fit young PC with him. He fancied me. I asked him if coppers ever got engaged, and he said they all just end up like DI Hardy." She sighed. "That's no life."

"Suppose not," Ellie muttered.

"Is that why you got divorced? Because you're a copper?"

Ellie sighed. "Something like that."

 

The afternoon passed uneventfully. Sylvie's fiance rang, and she giggled in hushed tones for nearly an hour. Assistants and clients came and went. No one new came to the door.

At four o'clock, Mr. Wyre emerged from the inner office, nodded his farewells, and lumbered out the door. Ellie stared after him.

"I thought you said he'd gone," she said to Sylvie.

Sylvie shrugged. "That's what I'm supposed to say."

"You lie to the police?"

She shrugged again. "Whatever."

The door opened again, and the assistants streamed out. Sylvie fidgeted and checked the clock. At four thirty she retrieved her handbag from the drawer and stood up.

"I'm off," she said. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Suppose so," said Ellie. "Good night."

The last half hour of her shift passed in silence. At five o'clock Ms. Flint appeared, to sign her time card and send her on her way. Ellie headed out to the street, her mind full of questions.

Just past the front door she heard her name. Alec Hardy climbed out of his car and hurried toward her.

"Hello," she said. "You're still here."

"Do you have some time this evening? Can I take you to dinner, or -"

"I've got to get home. Freddy's at the neighbor's."

"Can I drive you then?"

She glanced toward the bus stop, then back at him. The bus wasn't due for ten minutes, and the ride would be nearly twice that. "All right. Thank you."

"How's the new job?" Alec asked when they were on their way.

"It'll do."

"Did you see Mr. Wyre again this afternoon?"

Ellie looked at him. "Are you using me? If you're using me you best let me off right here."

"I'm not. Sorry." He took one hand off the wheel and laid it over hers. "Sorry," he said again.

Ellie bit her lip. His touch warmed her from the inside. With the tips of her fingers she traced the long bones of his hand, aching to be with him again. "It's all right," she said.

"It's good to see you, Ellie."

She swallowed. "You too. I wish -"

He waited, his hand warm and strong in hers. She took a breath. "I'd like to see you again, but it's hard, with the boys. I can't leave them, and they're not ready -"

"I know." He squeezed her fingers. "It's all right."

She studied his face, in profile as he drove. The trace of stubble on his jaw, the weary lines around his eyes and mouth. The glint of silver in his hair.

"Where am I taking you?" Alec asked suddenly.

"Home. Freddy's just next door."

"Right." He turned the corner and pulled into a nearby drive. "Will that do?"

"Thank you," she said.

"I'll be popping in at Wyre's again," he said. "Don't be surprised."

She smiled. "I won't."

His hand still held hers; he lifted it to his lips, brushing her knuckles with a gentleness that sent a shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes. Tenderly he drew her into his arms. A tide of strain and worry ebbed out of her; she sagged against him, breathing him in, feeling his warmth and strength revive her. Lifting her head, she gazed into his eyes and smiled.

"I'll see you later," she said.

 

"I thought you should know," Ellie told Ms. Flint the next morning. "The detective working the murder here is a friend of mine. We worked together, years ago."

Ms. Flint raised an eyebrow. "Is it a problem?"

"Shouldn't think so," said Ellie.

"Let's keep it that way." Ms. Flint returned to her paperwork. Ellie went to her little desk in the antechamber.

The day passed much as the previous. Sylvie gossiped. Wyre, his assistants, and his clients came and went. Alec did not appear. At five Ms. Flint appeared, Ellie's time card in her hand.

"I'm afraid it's a problem after all," she said abruptly. "Your relationship with this detective. We've asked Hunt to send someone else."

Ellie's heart sank. "I understand."

"You'll be paid for the week. I'm sorry it's come to this, but Mr. Wyre felt it best."

"Of course. Thank you." Ms. Flint waited by the door. Ellie straightened her shoulders and left.

She was not surprised to see Alec waiting by his car out front. "Not a good time," she said as he approached. "I've just been sacked because of you."

"Really?" He stopped. "That's unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" She frowned. "Why? Because you wanted to use me, my position here, didn't you? Is that it?"

"Of course not. I just -"

"Because if you were, I'll have you know, I cannot in good conscience tell you anything at all about Hunt's clients, no matter what. If I'd answered your questions yesterday it would be grounds for dismissal."

"I wasn't -"

"Stupid of me, really. I thought you were becoming human. I thought you were my friend."

"Ellie, please -"

"But you were just taking advantage. Using your resources, like a good copper. Well, I'm not one of your grass." She turned away, trembling with rage. "Leave me alone, Alec."

 

She made it all the way home on the bus without tears, cooked dinner for her boys, put Freddy to bed. Tom shut himself in his room with his headphones on. Ellie poured a glass of wine and sat down by the cold fireplace.

Someone knocked softly on the door.

With a sigh she set her glass aside and went to the door. Alec stood on the step, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast.

"I tried to call," he said before she could speak.

"My phone's off. What do you want?"

"I want you to listen."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I'm listening."

"I do care about you, Ellie. I wasn't trying to use you."

She looked away, blinking back tears.

"I'm sorry about your job," he said.

She laughed bitterly. "It's not as if I really wanted to be a security guard. But I'm running out of choices, Alec. If Hunt lets me go I don't know what I'll do."

"I might be able to help you with that."

"How?"

Alec thrust his hands in his pockets. "There's a young woman in hospital who won't speak to any of our detectives. With your experience, I could bring you in as a consultant, and you could conduct the interview."

Ellie watched him warily. "Why me?"

"Your heart, Ellie."

"What?"

Alec shifted uncomfortably on the step. "There's a lot to be said for emotional distance in police work. But you said yourself, there's times you have to have a heart. I've never worked with a detective with more heart than you."

Ellie stared at him. "I don't know what to say."

"Think it over. Come by in the morning and we'll talk about it."

Slowly she found herself nodding. "All right."

"There is one other difficulty."

"What's that?"

"If you come in on this case, we'll have to set any personal feelings aside. There can't be any suggestion of impropriety."

"So you can be my boss, or you can be my friend, but you can't be both, is that it?"

He squirmed. "We can't be involved, do you see?"

"No sex, is what you're saying."

He flushed. "No sex."

"Why is nothing ever simple with you?" She sighed. "All right. I'll think it over and come see you in the morning."

 

The girl in the hospital bed was as blonde and pretty as her replacement at the office, and barely nineteen. Her mother, like enough and youthful enough to be nearly a sister, stood up from her chair as Ellie entered.

"Are you the woman from the police?"

"Yes. I'm Ellie Miller." She offered her hand. The other woman's grip was limp and humid. She looked exhausted, as any mother hovering at a child's bedside might.

"Barbara Foreman," she said. "This is Astrid."

Astrid regarded her with disinterest. Her skin was slack and pale, her eyes hollow and haunted. 

"Hello, Astrid," said Ellie gently. "Your mum thought you might want to talk."

"He saw it," said the girl, her voice like leaves in the wind. "He saw it all."

"She keeps saying that," the mother said.

"Who saw it, sweetheart?" asked Ellie.

The girl turned to her mother. "Great-Uncle Gerald."

"That's Mr. Wyre," Barbara sighed. "But he wasn't there. She's confused."

"If it's all right with you," said Ellie, "I'd like to speak with Astrid alone."

Barbara looked uncertainly at her daughter. Astrid turned away.

"It won't take long. You look like you could use a coffee. We'll be all right."

"I'll be all right, Mum," the girl whispered.

"Very well," Barbara sighed. "I could use a coffee. But I'm coming straight back."

"Thank you," said Ellie. When Barbara had gone, she took a chair beside Astrid. "What did your great-uncle see?"

The girl's eyes seemed to focus for the first time. "You believe me?"

"Why shouldn't I? You were there."

A wan smile touched Astrid's lips, then quickly faded. "We were both there. We saw him do it."

"You saw who?"

"Mr. James."

The dead man, Ellie's briefing supplied.

"What did he do?"

"He k-" Astrid clutched at her throat with one pale hand, and her grey eyes widened. "He did it. Himself."

"Mr. James cut his own throat?"

The girl nodded.

"That's what you saw?"

"That's what we both saw."

"Can you tell me everything that happened until then?"

Astrid swallowed. "Everything?"

"We'll start with Mr. James. When did he first arrive?"

"He had a ten o'clock. But Great-uncle Gerald - Mr. Wyre - wasn't in yet. I asked Mr. James to wait in the antechamber."

She closed her eyes. Ellie offered her water, helping her sit up to drink.

"So you were there at your desk, and Mr. James was in a chair in the antechamber?"

Astrid nodded. "Then Patrick came out with a file for the courier. I went to the copy room for an envelope and took it to Ms. Flint's office to be picked up. When I came back he wasn't there."

"Mr. James wasn't there."

"I thought he must have gone through. Sometimes they do when you leave them alone. But one of the assistants should have sent him out again. So I went to check."

"You went into the office."

"Yes."

"How long did it take you to prepare the envelope for the courier?"

"Not long."

"Five minutes? Ten?"

Astrid offered a weak smile. "Seven?"

Ellie returned the smile. "And then you went into the office."

The smile faded, and Astrid nodded. "There's an outer office, where the assistants work, and then Mr. Wyre's is the inner office."

"Who was in the outer office?"

"No one."

"Is that unusual?"

"A bit. Patrick at least ought to have been there."

"Did you then go through to the inner office?"

Astrid nodded. Her eyes had gone very wide.

"Take your time," said Ellie gently.

The girl nodded and drew a breath. "He was standing over the desk, looking down. Like he was trying to read something there. He heard the door, I think, and turned around. He had a razor in his hand, like in old films, and he -" Astrid drew a finger across her throat and burst into tears.

"What happened next?" said Ellie.

Astrid wiped her cheeks and drew another breath. "He fell. There was a lot of blood. I think I screamed. Then I turned to go for help, and Great-uncle - Mr. Wyre was there."

"In the outer office?"

She nodded. "Right behind me. He startled me so. I must have fainted. I woke up in Ms. Flint's office. She was on the phone to the police, saying there'd been a murder." Tears filled her eyes again. "I didn't know what to think."

"You said Mr. James had a ten o'clock. Did you make the appointment?"

Astrid's smooth brow furrowed. "I don't remember. I'm sure I hadn't seen him before; he was quite good-looking, and I think I would have remembered." Her cheeks went pink and her eyes brimmed. "But if he'd phoned, I might not have. Quite a lot of people phone, weeks in advance sometimes."

"How long have you worked for your great-uncle?"

"Two years. Since I left school."

"How do you get on?"

She shrugged. "He's all right. A bit gruff. Always has a toy for the kiddies though, ever since Mum was small, she says."

"He's her uncle?"

"My gran's youngest brother."

"Has he ever married?"

"Married to the job, he says." She gave another tiny smile.

At that moment the door opened, and Barbara came in balancing a paper tray. "I brought you ice cream, sweetheart," she said. "Everything all right?"

Astrid nodded. "She's done marvelously," said Ellie. "Really smashing."

The girl's face lit up, and her mother seemed to relax. "Wonderful, darling," she said. Setting the tray on the bedside cabinet, she offered her daughter a paper dish of ice cream. Astrid accepted eagerly. "I brought you a coffee," Barbara said uncertainly, offering a cup. "I wasn't sure -"

"That's very kind," said Ellie, accepting. "Actually, if you don't mind I'd like to speak with you for a minute. Outside."

Barbara glanced at Astrid, then picked up her own cup. "Just for a moment, then."

"What put her in the hospital?" Ellie asked when the door was safely shut.

"Nerves," said Barbara. "After the - the murder, she couldn't stop crying. Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. Wouldn't talk to anyone." She glanced at the silent door. "She seems ever so much better now. What on earth did you say?"

"I only listened," said Ellie, and her own words gave her a burst of inspiration.

 

"Do you believe her?"

Ellie shrugged. "I think so. Is it possible?"

Alec shuffled through the files on his desk until he found the coroner's report. "Quick cut, not deep, leading upward to the right. Inexperienced right-handed killer." He set the file aside. "I'll check with the coroner to be certain, but does seem possible. Without a weapon we didn't consider it."

"Has it been found? The weapon I mean."

He nodded and picked up another file. "Straight razor, new, no distinguishing features, recently sharpened. Found in a bin in the alley. It had been wiped, but there were still traces of the victim's blood and one partial print. Not enough points for a match."

"Could it have been the victim's?"

"We'll have to check." He set the file aside with a sigh. "I didn't realize bringing you on would upset the whole applecart."

Ellie smiled. "Then what did you bring me on for?"

Alec returned the smile. He gazed at her for a long moment before turning abruptly away. "So, assuming the girl is right and Wyre was there, why is he lying? And if was a suicide, why is he covering it up?"

"What do we know about the victim?"

"He's a familiar face." Alec picked up yet another file. "Andrew Xavier James, twenty-six, student living at home with his mother. Father dead twelve years. Three previous arrests, plus a half dozen more as a minor." He closed the file. "Petty larceny, vandalism, and now prostitution."

"Was he charged?"

"Not so far."

"Any chance Wyre was a client?"

"It's hard to say. There was definitely a professional relationship, but Wyre claims he was the professional. And of course he refuses to disclose anything else."

"Bloody privilege," Ellie muttered. She sat back in her chair and chewed her lip. "Still, what would he gain by covering up a suicide?"

"If it is a suicide, it's a very personal one. Most suicides are private, home alone in the bath, or else very public. I've rarely seen one targeted like this."

Ellie nodded absently. What would drive a man to do what it seemed James had done?

A few moments later she became aware of the quiet. She looked up to see Alec smiling at her.

"What?"

"You're detecting."

She flushed. "Don't get used to it."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure I want you for a boss." She picked up her handbag and stood. "I've an appointment. I'll see you later."

 

She didn't have an appointment; she went to the library to use the internet and then went home. She couldn't get the problem out of her mind. What had made Andrew James miserable enough to kill himself in front of the lawyer and his niece? What was so incriminating that Wyre was willing to let the girl think she'd imagined things in order to cover it up?

She was still mulling it over that night as she climbed into bed. She looked at her phone on the bedside table, wondering what Alec had learned about the dead man. Wondering if she should call and find out. Not now, she chided herself. Wait until a reasonable hour. Then the phone buzzed against the table, and she seized it with haste.

'Found friend of victim willing to talk,' the text message said. 'Pick you up at 9.'

 

Steven Hayes was a slender, delicate, twenty-six-year-old black man living on his own in a sparse one-room flat above a noisy pub. Canvases lined the walls in various states of completion: figure drawings, sketched portraits, street scenes in oils and charcoal. A few finished pieces hung unframed. Hayes paced the room as he spoke, clutching a cup of coffee in an effort to keep his hands from shaking.

"We were schoolmates, way back. Got in trouble together." He glanced at Alec. "I expect you know that."

"I did find your name in his juvenile record," said Alec. "Yours remains sealed."

"I don't care about that," he said, resuming his anxious stride. "Doesn't matter. We were mates. But I fancied him, you know? Never said. He was a player, it would've never worked. But any time he called, I came running, you know?" He took a sip of coffee. "Wish I'd a cigarette."

"When did you last speak?" Ellie asked.

"It's been ages. I bumped into him at the Gallery maybe four months back. A mutual friend had a show. We went for coffee, caught up. He seemed well enough. Struggling artist, and all that." He gestured at the canvases. "Then out of the blue he called me last Thursday morning."

James had died on Thursday. "What time?" Ellie asked.

"I can tell you." Hayes took out his phone. "Eight thirty. I was in the shower. He left a message saying he was sorry, but when I called back it went straight to voice mail."

"Sorry for what?"

"Dunno, that's just it. Here's the message." He pressed a button on his phone, and a ghostly voice emerged.

'Hey Stevie, it's Andrew. Look, mate, I know it's been ages, but I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. It's nothing to do with you.' There was a pause; tears spilled down Hayes' cheeks. 'That's it, just, I'm sorry.' The message ended with a beep, and Alec and Ellie exchanged a significant glance.

"If I'd known he was gonna turn up dead," said Hayes tearfully. "I dunno, I just... He was a good bloke. A good mate. It don't seem real, you know?"

"Did you know he was working as a prostitute?" Ellie asked gently.

Hayes nodded. "He's a looker, you know? Older blokes liked him, used to give him money all the time. And he thought getting paid for sex was better than winning the lottery, you know? When I saw him last we joked about finding wealthy patrons to finance our artistic endeavors. I said if anyone could manage it, he could."

"What did he say to that?"

"He laughed. We were just pissing about, you know?"

"Do you think it's possible he killed himself?"

Hayes stopped pacing and looked at her. "Is that what happened?"

"We're not sure yet. Is it possible?"

He looked away, staring past them at nothing. The coffee cup shook in his hands. "It's possible," he said. "He used to get these moods, you know? Like, Hamlet-type moods, all woe is me and everything is terrible. I just never thought, you know? I never thought he'd really do it."

The young man began to weep in earnest. Ellie and Alec exchanged glances and stood. "Thank you for your time," said Ellie. She set Alec's card on the kitchen table. "Call us if you think of anything else."

 

"What do you think of him?" Alec asked as they returned to the car.

"He seems heartbroken," said Ellie. "Did you notice the new charcoal on the easel?"

Alec nodded. "He was drawing our victim."

"Have you learned anything more about Gerald Wyre?"

"The man is a closed book," Alec snorted. "No online presence to speak of. His assistants don't know anything about his personal life, and he's blocked our efforts to look at his phone and financial records. For a property attorney he's pretty quick on criminal defense."

"Does he have a solicitor?"

"He hasn't hired one. He's said loudly several times that an innocent man shouldn't need one."

"Doesn't sound like something an innocent man would say, does it?"

Alec smirked. "Not much, no."

"So what now?"

He glanced at her as he drove. "Are you in, then?"

She looked at him sharply. "Would you rather I weren't?"

He shrugged. "You said you didn't want me for a boss."

Ellie looked out the window. The sky was bright for so early in the year, though the street was wet with recent rain. People went about their business hatless. She wondered what it would be like to be normal.

"I could use you on this case," he said gently. "If it's what you want."

"It's the best work I've had in a long time," she said. "Like I'm finally doing something worthwhile again." She looked at him, remembering him in her bed, drowsy in her arms. "But there's more to life than work, and I miss that too."

He nodded, his eyes on the road ahead.

"Speaking with Astrid gave me a thought," she said. "A way to help that wouldn't involve people questioning my ability at every turn. I applied for a course in counseling at UEA."

He smiled. "Brilliant."

"I also applied for admin work at the university."

"No more Hunt's?"

She shook her head. "I was holding on to something, Alec. I worked so hard to be a police officer, and a detective, I didn't want to let it go. I couldn't. But working in insurance, and working for Hunt, it's not the same thing, is it?"

Alec said nothing, and kept his eyes on the road.

"It's time to let it go," she said.

He nodded slowly. 

"But in the meantime, I'd very much like to finish this case with you."

He glanced at her in surprise, then smiled broadly. "All right, then, Miller. Let's have a word with Mr. Wyre."

 

"I'm not talking to you." Gerald Wyre thrust a thick finger in Ellie's face. "Who do you think you are? Bloody unethical, I call it."

"Like lying to the police?" said Alec.

Wyre scowled. "I've said everything I have to say."

"You haven't said why you're gaslighting your grand-niece," said Ellie. "The poor girl is a wreck. Too much integrity to disbelieve her eyes and too much loyalty to disbelieve you."

"Astrid is delicate," said Wyre. "Sensitive. Who knows what ideas your brutes have put in her head."

"What I don't understand," said Alec, "is the need for deception. I've often seen men in your position cover up a murder, but a suicide?"

For an instant the mask slipped, and Ellie caught a glimpse of terror in Wyre's face. "Bollocks," said the solicitor. "How on earth could it be suicide?"

"You tell me," said Alec, sitting back with his arms folded across his chest. "When did you first meet Andrew James?"

"That's privileged information," said Wyre.

"Is it? So he came to you? Found you in the phone book, did he?"

"It wasn't the other way round, was it?" Ellie asked.

Wyre looked at her, and again a hint of fear flickered in his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Were you aware the victim was recently arrested for prostitution?" Alec asked.

Color drained from Wyre's face. "I don't discuss my client's private lives."

"Did he, though?" Alec leaned forward across the desk. "Did he talk about your relationship?"

"I did advise him not to discuss his legal affairs -"

"What about his personal affairs?"

"Enough!" Wyre banged his fist down on the desk. "Your insinuations appall me, sir -"

"The truth is," said Alec, "hardly anyone gets denounced for homosexuality anymore. It wouldn't be worth the trouble to cover it up."

"Unless one had an old-fashioned clientele," said Ellie.

"I suppose." Alec rubbed his chin, and his eyes fell on an apoplectic Mr. Wyre. "Do you have an old-fashioned clientele, Mr. Wyre?"

"Leave. Now," said the solicitor through gritted teeth.

"Oh, very well," said Alec. He got to his feet, and then leaned over the desk once more. "I will find the truth," he said. "The harder you fight the harder I'll dig. Tell the truth now and save yourself the trouble."

"Get out," Wyre hissed.

Alec turned and strode out of the office. Ellie hurried after him.

"He's definitely lying," said Alec when she caught up.

"How long do you suppose we can treat this as a murder?"

He stopped in his tracks. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if it's not a murder then there's no need for a detective, is there?"

He frowned. "Let's get back," he said. "If the coroner has something conclusive then we can try another angle."

 

"False police report?" Ms. Flint sputtered.

"Re-examination of the body shows conclusively that the victim committed suicide," Alec told her.

"But I thought - There was -"

"You reported a murder when there was none. Why would you do that?"

"Because -" She sputtered again. "The girl - I mean, the man was dead. There was no weapon. It had to be a murder."

"Are you covering for your employer?"

Ms. Flint went white, and then red. "I'll say nothing more on that," she said, "and I'll have a solicitor of my own. See how you like it."

 

Ellie stood as Alec emerged from the interview room. "Well?" she said.

"As I suspected," said Alec, "Ms. Flint would rather give us her boss than be charged. She admits that Wyre was there, that he asked his assistants to leave, and that he told her to report a murder."

"So we have him."

"We do." He pulled on his coat. "Coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

 

Wyre waited in his office as if he had never left. "Happy now, Detective Inspector? You've turned all my own against me."

"That young man deserves the truth," said Alec.

"That young man was a lunatic and a blackmailer."

Alec and Ellie took seats across the desk. "Go on," said Alec.

"I was his client," said the solicitor miserably.

Alec and Ellie said nothing.

"Somehow he found out who I was," he said. "I started paying him just to leave me alone."

"He came around here?"

Wyre nodded. "And at home."

"Demanding money?"

Wyre shook his head. "Little bleeder said he was in love with me." Bitterness flared in the old man's eyes. "That's a hell of a trick to play on the likes of me. Told him where to get off. Next thing I know, there he is in my office with a razor."

"Astrid said he'd made an appointment."

"I never knew his real name. He called himself Leonardo, like the artist. I thought Andrew James was a legitimate client, till I saw him there." He gestured to a spot just over Ellie's shoulder.

"What happened?" said Alec.

Wyre shrugged. "It was just like Astrid said. Blighter cut his throat right in front of us."

"What did you do?"

"First I got Astrid out of there. Poor girl." He shook his head. "I came back and it was all over. I checked him, just in case, and found a note."

Tears sprung to the old man's eyes. Ellie hid her astonishment.

"What did you do with the note?"

"I burned it. Pitched it in the bin with the razor."

"What did it say?"

The old solicitor scowled. "Full of pretty lies, it was. I couldn't bear it."

"He insisted he loved you," said Ellie.

Wyre nodded. A single tear spilled down his wrinkled cheek. 

Alec shut his notebook and got to his feet. "I'm going to recommend this case be closed, Mr. Wyre," he said. "There may be some noise about obstruction, but nothing a man of your education can't handle."

Wyre gaped. "You mean -"

"You didn't kill him," said Ellie. "No matter what he said, you didn't kill him."

More tears fell free as the old man nodded. Ellie got up and followed Alec out of the room.

"Do you think he really loved him?" she asked Alec when they reached the street.

"Who knows?" said Alec. "You never really know what's in another's heart."

 

The boys were in bed; Ellie was finishing the dinner dishes and preparing to head upstairs when a knock came at the door. She opened it to find Alec on the step.

"Surprised to see you here," she said with a smile.

"Are you?" Alec smiled back.

"A bit. Come in."

He stepped inside but made no move to take off his coat. "I wanted to say thanks," he said. "It was good to have you on the case."

"I'm the one should be grateful," she said.

"You're sure you won't take another?"

"I'm sure. My new job starts next week, and then classes in the fall."

He nodded. "I'm glad for you, Ellie. I'm sorry to lose you, but I'm glad."

"Me too."

A silent moment passed. Then abruptly he was kissing her, his mouth warm and firm on hers. She flung her arms around his neck and held him close, drinking him in, letting his body against hers give her strength. Then, an eternity later and yet too soon, she drew away.

"The boys are sleeping," she whispered.

"I know," he said gently. "Consider it a promise."

He kissed her again, long and well, and then he was gone.

Ellie stood alone in the quiet entryway. Her chest ached, but it wasn't the agony of heartbreak. At last, she thought, she might have begun to heal. For the first time in too many years, she didn't feel torn apart. 

She would find a way for them to be together.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, then to the door, imagining him on the other side. Then she switched off the lights and went upstairs to bed.


End file.
